The Ruinous Powers
by DrakeTheDuelist
Summary: Abaddon the Despoiler has once again set his sights on the destruction of the False Emperor. But his plan takes him and his partner in crime, Luceus the Eternal, into the distant past. What is his master plan, and can the Shaman King characters prevent


The Ruinous Powers:

A Warhammer 40,000 / Shaman King Crossover

By Drake The Duelist

Chapter 1: Vengeance of the Despoiler

Wind whips over the dark, abysmal plane of dust and rubble. The sky glows with a sickening reddish-purple, illuminated occasionally by twisting blue lightning high in the sky. Ruined cities lay in the background as former shadows of what vitality the land once had. But now, all that remains is a desolate desert, devoid of life, recent civilization, and essence.

A mighty iron boot crushes down on smaller rocks and pebbles, grinding them into dust with a casual step. More heavy footsteps echo out through the barren wasteland. The figure leaving those footprints wears enormous black armor, and stands well over seven, and possibly even eight feet tall. The fringes and exoskeleton framework of the figure's armor appears to be made of old rusty brass. The figure's right arm is equipped with a gauntlet with two guns with massive caliber built into the very gauntlet, and the fingers of the glove grow out into thick, metal claws that glow with an unearthly energy. In the figure's other hand, he wields a bluish-black sword with arcane symbols carved into the blade and demonic teeth growing out of the sword itself and twitching randomly, as if the sword were an actual living organism. His red hair is all tied up into a single braid that blows back in the alien breeze. The figure's face is deathly pale, as if it were a corpse's face. It is the face of Abaddon the Despoiler, the one whose words sent entire planets to their oblivion and billions, human and alien, to early graves.

Abaddon stops pacing in the middle of nowhere and slams his foot down on the ground, crushing an old, musty skull into powder. "Grr… where is that daemon!" he bellows furiously as he begins pacing in circles and swinging his sword swiftly. "How… dare… that... _insignificant-_"

"Y'know, I thought you of all people would be above tantrums…" a youthful human voice answers, echoing from all around Abaddon.

Abaddon glares around with frustration as he grits his crooked, spiky teeth. "Show yourself! My men tell me you request audience with me. And I will not tolerate a pathetic sprite to divert my attention from the military matters on Cadia any further. So speak your peace, for you know from stories of the Warp's many dregs that I have more than enough power to back up my words," he threatens, calming down slightly and raising his sword.

"Well good, because I have no time for theatrics either," the voice responds. After finishing his comment, the ground in front of Abaddon catches fire and spreads into a circle around Abaddon. Into the circle steps a short, long-haired brunette boy wearing a faded white cape down to his feet. The boy keeps his head down, wisely preventing his eyes from meeting the Despoiler's.

Abaddon frowns skeptically as he squints at the boy who walked out of the wall of fire around him. "A boy? What jest is this? Warp daemons speak of as a massive destroyer who controls the raging fires with his whim and crushes all enemies below his foot. Again, remind me, why is it that I should pay a fraction of attention to your words?" he asks, feeling insulted.

The boy looks up right at Abaddon's face. "Because I have the power and information that you need to overthrow that festering corpse on a rock that the fools of the Imperium claim to be their Emperor," he answers with an abhorrent tone towards the entity he made reference to.

Abaddon's skeptic expression remains. "Over ten thousand years yielded many daemons before that have promised me the destruction of the Imperium with their help. However, if their promises rang true, the Imperium would not still be standing today. Your offer is no different, Asakura Hao…" he drones on grimly as he raises his sword up into the air, ready to strike Hao down.

Hao's eyes widen as he raises his hands defensively. "No, wait, hang on! No need to do something you'll regret!" he begs, falling down to his knees and throwing himself at Abaddon's mercy. "Please… let me live…" Hao begs, almost crying.

Abaddon's expression turns to one of disgust. He lowers his sword. "Get up, worm. Tell me what you know and I _may_ spare your miserable existence," he offers with the least of sincerity.

Hao nervously looks back up at Abaddon. "Y-y-yes-s-sir," he stutters. "The Asakura lineage. My lineage. That is the bloodline of the future False Emperor. In a previous life, I witnessed a turn in the destiny of the Asakura bloodline. If such a turn were _prevented_, then the Imperium as we know it would cease to have _ever_ existed, leaving those of us who remain in the timeless lock of the Eye of Terror unharmed, while the material plane will be unmade from past to future until the Emperor will never have existed," Hao tells, speaking with the hope of great potential in his plan.

Abaddon remains stoically unthankful for the divulgence of Hao's plan. "Quit talking in circles, worm…" he beckons. "What happened to your family in your previous life, and what does that have to do with the False Emperor? Because if you are trying to trick me, then you shall endure endless hellish sufferings…" Abaddon threatens.

"My apologies, Lord Abaddon," Hao begs, "but this information is vital. Another clan existed back in my day. A small clan, yet powerful at controlling spirits and demons. Their daughter will give birth to the bloodline of the False Emperor," he explains, careful to maintain his reverent tone.

Inside though, Hao fumes and fusses to himself. "_Ridiculous! This impatient gorilla doesn't deserve the truth! It should be me fighting against the False Emperor and leading the forces of Chaos to invade the material universe. How did this bungling idiot get ordained by the Ruinous Powers and I didn't?" _he whines in thought.

"Tell me the name of this clan, worm," Abaddon commands.

"_Again with the worm stuff… Back in the day, I used to demand respect like Abaddon is doing now. He wouldn't be in this position right now if it weren't for his precious Drach'nyen, who is nothing compared to my Spirit of Fire. I swear I'll make you pay for this humiliation, Abaddon. By getting you to bite off more than you can chew, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh…" _Hao again contemplates to himself.

"The clan, my lord, was called 'Tamamura' by my people. You will find the girl there. She will be heavily protected though, sire, so the utmost caution is advised," Hao informs Abaddon. "You should bring the finest warriors you have at your disposal," he suggests strongly with stress in his voice. _"Yeah, so they can all die before your eyes and your conquest of the Imperium will be ruined, you ape! Nobody bosses around Asakura Hao, and mark my words, you'll pay for this…" _he thinks to himself.

Abaddon's expression becomes skeptic. "I sense uneasiness in your voice, worm. Might I remind you _not_ to double-cross me, or you will suffer..." he warns.

"It's true, I swear it!" Hao insists, unwisely looking Abaddon right in the face.

Abaddon looks back down at the insignificant boy with disgust and fury. His grip on his sword tightens as the blade itself vibrates in accordance with its master's anger. "NEVER raise your voice to me again, feeble creature!" he shouts as he lunges forward with his sword and swiftly impales Hao with it.

Hao reels in shock as he feels the living blade pulsate slightly from within his chest. His posture fades as the emotion in his face slowly deteriorates. Hao's body hangs limply on Abaddon's sword.

"Drach'nyen, dispose of this loathsome creature," Abaddon speaks to his sword. He cackles lightly as Hao's body begins to radiate with a reddish orange glow, causing his sword to glow a bright bluish white color in response. The sword draws the orange aura off of Hao's body and into itself, causing it to emit demonic howls of pleasure. Hao's aura runs off his body as his skin turns a deep, pale white. After Drach'nyen had drained the last essence of Hao's aura from his body, Abaddon kicks the offending corpse off his blade, letting it drop on the ground.

Abaddon looks out across the planes of the corrupted planet, with desert as far as the eye could see in all directions, with a ruined city's silhouette in the far distance. _"The annoying creature may have actually held useful information. He may have proved a potent daemon in my ranks, were he not so defiant. Nonetheless, I have come too far from the battle lines on Cadia to come back completely empty-handed…" _the Despoiler thinks to himself before staring up at the warp-corrupted crimson sky. "Ahriman, come forth!" he calls out into the deep sky.

"Already behind you, my lord, and right on time, just as I had foreseen it," a wise, venerable voice speaks up from behind Abaddon.

Abaddon swiftly turns to face the approaching figure. "Ah, excellent, your patron keeps you well informed, Ahriman" he responds.

Ahriman sports heavily ornate deep blue power armored clothing, draped over with light blue capes and robes. Ahriman's helmet sports two bull-like horns, a tribute to the days before the Rubric had been cast. Ahriman also carries a long staff with similar hornlike structures protruding from it. The staff is illuminated by a white aura precisely in between the two horns on the staff. This aura illuminates the ground in the area where the two stand. Ahriman whisks back his robes and gets down on one knee, bowing to his master.

"Ahriman, how far back of history have you learned from the Eldar and their Black Library?" Abaddon asks eagerly.

"Since the dawn of time itself and the birth of the universe, sire, though later historical records kept by the Harlequins are very cryptic," Ahriman answers reverently, remaining calm and bowed.

Abaddon smiles crookedly, as, unlike Hao, Ahriman brings him good news apparently. "Tell me, do your studies tell anything of a human clan by the name of Asakura?" he asks.

"Hm?" Ahriman perks up. "An _Asakura_? In ancient days on Terra, there was a powerful yet secluded clan of sorcerers and warriors by that name. History records them as having some of the most powerful sorcerers in the human race. Though naturally, the feeble-minded Eldar belittle these humans' accomplishments to nuisances before their past glories, the Eldar speak respectfully of their powers, especially after incidents prior to the turn of the third millennium," Ahriman explains.

"The _third_ millennium?" Abaddon inquires curiously. "What primitive technology was about during that period? Could humans even leave the planet?" he asks, mocking the primitiveness of this early time period.

"They could barely touch their own moon. The Forge World on Mars was yet to be contemplated, but settlement on Mars was a debated subject in this time period," Ahriman answers, sounding confidently knowledgeable on the subject.

"To the point, sorcerer," Abaddon suggests. "Is there a way to get to this time period?"

Ahriman suddenly goes silent for a moment. "Well… it _is_ possible, but the spell is highly dangerous. The repercussions on the present would be immeasurable, and there is no way to return to the present once in the past," he warns, suggesting against the possibility.

"I'm counting on us changing the course of the history of the Imperium. We will remake the forges on Mars ourselves, and from there conquer the galaxy with our foreknowledge. When the time comes about, I will be the new Emperor, and no force, no matter how powerful, will arise and plague our race without my forethought. The Tyranids, the Tau, the Vespid, the Hrud, the Slann, all will be foreseen and from the past, we will eliminate these threats to our own Imperium of Chaos," Abaddon brags on, snickering on occasion at the thought of his plan.

Ahriman becomes slightly worried for the sanity of his master. "Milord?" he asks. "Milord, what of the False Emperor? How will we stop his uprising? Even Lord Horus could not defeat the accursed wretch," he asks.

Abaddon grins with a toothy, crocodile-like grin. "The False Emperor will never have existed. We will kill his bloodline down to the last before establishing _our_ Imperium. Tell me what you know of the no-doubt notorious name of Tamamura," he requests, eagerly awaiting a lengthy answer from his sorcerer lieutenant.

"Tamamura?" Ahriman asks quizzically. "A brief mention of Tamamura was made in the historical notes as one of a handful of clans of 'ascentics', or 'mon-keigh seers' as the Eldar called them. They were listed as an abhorrent-"

"Sorcerer, to the point!" Abaddon insists.

"My most humble apologies, Milord!" Ahriman begs. "To the point, I had used my Eye of Tzeentch to give me sight into past lives of souls concerning these 'mon-keigh seers'. With my gift of a perfect memory bestowed upon me by the great Lord Tzeentch, I do not recall any of these particular lineages as being significantly connected. There were occasional outliers, but nothing more and nothing noteworthy," he tells Abaddon grimly, fearing to meet his end at the blade of the bound entity Drach'nyen.

Abaddon lowers his sword as his anger subsides. "Well done, sorcerer," he congratulates Ahriman. "Because one of those ascentics you located is the ancestor of the False Emperor, just as the daemon boy suggested," he explains.

"You are most welcome, Milord," Ahriman humbles himself again. "…Though, if I _might_ intercede, I have a thought for the fate of the False Emperor's ancestor. This being must have great power if it contributes to the False Emperor. So instead of merely killing the ancestor, we instead _transfigure_ the ancestor into a daemon, hm?" he suggests.

"Oh really? And I suppose you would want to turn the creature into a spawn for your Lord Tzeentch, yes?" Abaddon asks suspiciously.

"With all do respect, Khorne is too brutish to embrace the full power. And the despicable Nurgle beast would simply allow that awesome power to decay over the years. However, _I _may be able to harvest the power for my patron, Tzeentch, who will turn the power of the measly ancestor into something loyal to chaos and chaos only…" Ahriman suggests.

Abaddon scoffs. "Are you suggesting that I place a force so powerful into the ethereal hands of a being so treacherous? Tzeentch is a greedy and deceptive vulture who would sooner bend the power of the False Emperor against the remainder of the pantheon than allow it to be used for the True Emperor, me, who favors all of the powers equally. However, you do bring up a worthy point. It would be worth it to transform the ancestor into a timeless daemon to nurture and develop the massive power of the False Emperor into something useful. And I know one patron who would dare not anger any of the others who would gladly invite a greatly powerful daemon into their ranks…"

Ahriman mutters curses under his breath, as Abaddon had seen right through his ploy. "Milord, with all due respect, you're not _actually _considering handing the ancestor over to-"

"Luceus the Eternal," Abaddon finishes. "Precisely. Slaaneesh would be a perfect way to develop this new power because Slaaneesh dares not anger the other significantly stronger Ruinous Powers, like Khorne, Nurgle, or me. So summon Luceus, sorcerer. He will accompany us on this task."

Ahriman grumbles lightly, not wanting to vocally display his disappointment with Abaddon's decision to recruit Luceus. Ahriman thus stands to his feet and taps his staff on the ground six times, muttering a bizarrely catchy incantation. As the end of his staff hits the ground for the sixth time, the light between the horns on his staff shoots out a beam of light that slowly takes shape on the ground in front of him.

The being stands up, standing as tall as Abaddon himself, wearing much sleeker armor however, when the light around the figure dims, the color of the figure's armor is a tantalizing and nauseating pink, of all colors. His armor is adorned with belts, icons, and various trophies of battles he had taken part in, no doubt. The chest plate of his armor is bent into the shapes of faces, and these faces can not only still move their jaws, but moan out in eternal agony. Luceus's backpack has three chemical vials, all of different colors, on it, with tubing linking these fluids into the back of his neck. Out of Luceus's right shoulder pad grows a small handful of long pink tentacles that bend and weave around Luceus's right arm, all the way down to his legs and ankles, stretching out like whips. Luceus's opposite arm wields a long, silver-bladed machete with power feeds from the scabbard feeding into the blade itself, causing it to hum slightly as electricity runs through the blade. Luceus's most defining feature is on his forehead. His hair had all fallen out of his sore-looking scalp, and his scalp is covered with deep, long gashes.

"Welcome, Luceus the Eternal, champion of the Emperor's Children legion of Slaaneesh. We have a task for you…" Abaddon hints for Luceus.

Luceus begins trembling at the shoulders ever so slightly and shortly after he begins cackling softly. "Whatever, he he, you desire, he he he, master, he he ha ha ha!" Luceus utters in a high-pitched voice as he exuberantly bows at the feet of the Despoiler in an overly flattering manner as he presses his face into the ground.

Abaddon returns his attention to Ahriman. "Now sorcerer, there is something that I require of you before we can go," he says as he holds out his open hand, the claw-like fingers of his talons beckoning for something to be placed in them. "The tome you keep your spells in, if you please," Abaddon requests calmly at first.

Ahriman grunts with an indignant tone as he reaches with his free hand under his cloak and pulls out a large red book. The book's bindings is held shut with a large golden lock, but Ahriman only needs to tap the lock with his staff and the lock clicks open. He walks up to Abaddon and bows down next to Luceus, and hands Abaddon the book. "Here it is, sire," he groans, with a forced sincerity in his tone. "Though, if I might ask, what do you require my spell book for when I have memorized the time traveling spell?" he asks, with a worried tone coming out.

Abaddon holsters the scabbard of Drach'nyen to his belt as he flips through the pages of the tome and walks away. After finding himself now a good distance from both of them, he responds. "Because I will not require _you _for this mission…" he suggests ominously. "Luceus, we have the tome. You may… _dispose_ of this treacherous sorcerer," he tells the humbled Luceus.

Luceus hears this and raises his head off the ground quickly, staring Ahriman right in the face as he licks his lips with his long, lizard-like tongue. He begins to snicker and cackle to himself again. "Y-y-y-yes… he he he… Lord Abaddon…" he responds as he stands to his feet.

Ahriman stands put in shock as Luceus stands to his feet slowly and raises his machete. "But… Lord Abaddon, what have I done to anger you!" he asks, panicking.

Abaddon cracks another crocodile-like sadistic grin. "You were _stupid_ enough to hand your spell book over to me so that I need not tolerate your presence any longer. Now that I have your time traveling spell and the partial favor of Tzeentch, I can cast the spell on my own, and you, you treacherous flunky, have just outlasted your usefulness to me…" he says softly as he turns away from the two.

The vials on Luceus's back empty into the tubes leading into Luceus's neck, emitting a sickening draining sound as the vials empty. All the while, Luceus begins to shake more all over his body as the ecstasy of the chemicals turns him even more psychotic than before. "He he he he he… I sure hope you can fight back, old man. Because fighting the weak is a waste of my talent… he he he he ha ha ha ha ha!" Luceus taunts Ahriman.

In a panic, Ahriman raises his staff up and launches a bolt of blue lightning at Luceus. "Taste the Bolt of Change, backstabber!" Ahriman shouts.

However, even at a close proximity to Luceus, the faces on Luceus's armor ripple the air around his torso with their tortured moans, bending the direction of the beam to pass harmlessly over his shoulder.

Ahriman is shocked at how his best spell failed to even touch Luceus. He desperately backs away as he launches more numerous bolts of violet energy out the horns of his staff. These bolts still bend around the screaming armor of Luceus's torso plate.

Luceus's snickering turns to a maddening cacophony of laughter as he charges at Ahriman with incredible speed. In an attempt to block Luceus's attack, Ahriman holds up his staff in front of his body to block any sword swings, but the tendrils coming out of Luceus's shoulder pad coil up into a single large whip which Luceus uses to yank Ahriman's staff out of his hands. Luceus then swiftly runs into point blank range and lunges at Ahriman with his machete. Ahriman is barely able to duck and parry the swings, but Luceus's rapid swings make tatters out of his cape and scratch up the chest plate of Ahriman's armor, but not quite penetrating it.

"He he, what's the matter, old man, he he he?" Luceus taunts as he over handedly swings his whip at Ahriman.

Ahriman counters in sheer desperation by quickly grabbing the whip out of the air and pulling Luceus closer. This allows Ahriman to punch Luceus squarely in the jaw with his metal-encased fist, sending Luceus teetering for a moment.

Luceus pauses, taking time to feel his jaw and wipe up the small trail of blood dripping out of it. His cackling resumes just as before. "He he ha ha ha! Pain, yes, delicious pain! Give me more! More! MORE! MWAHAHAHAHA!" Luceus beckons as he swings his machete at Ahriman again and again, but Ahriman parries and the blade slices the horns on his helmet cleanly in half. More of Luceus's swings come Ahriman's way, so Ahriman gets his distance again and raises up his palm.

"Begone, daemon!" Ahriman calls out as he shoots a torrent of blue flame right at Luceus, but Luceus only cackles louder as the demonic flames sear his skin.

Luceus's armor catches on fire, yet Luceus continues to swing his humming machete at Ahriman, but Ahriman's luck runs out as Luceus's speedy stab attacks poke quickly straight through his chest plate. Luceus continues to skewer Ahriman on his sword as Ahriman feels his life slipping away as blood pours out holes in his armor. Luceus doesn't notice and continues stabbing, intent on making mush of Ahriman's internal organs. Noticing that Ahriman is about to die of his quick and deep wounds, Luceus quickly imbeds his machete into Ahriman's thigh to hold it in place, then grabs Ahriman's head and shoulders from behind and quickly snaps his neck.

Luceus continues laughing like a lunatic as he pulls his machete out of Ahriman's thigh and continues to skewer the fallen corpse on the ground as fast as his heightened reflexes would allow, until he finds Abaddon's restraining claw wrapped around his neck.

Abaddon stands behind Luceus, holding his claw-like hand up to Luceus's throat. "That's enough, Luceus. You will be allowed to kill much more once we go into the past and find these Tamamuras. I promise you that," he speaks to Luceus in a calm and assertive tone.

Luceus's breathing returns to normal as he settles down and steps out of the way, allowing Abaddon to observe how thoroughly he had murdered Ahriman.

Abaddon looked on at the disgusting sight below. Ahriman lay with his chest up and his chest plate horribly shattered, as if he had never worn any armor there at all. His blood continued to spill out onto the ground. Abaddon reaches for his belt, for Drach'nyen, as the demon-bound blade shakes violently. Abaddon's strong grip restrains the shaking of the blade to a small extent, and to quell the sword at last, he sinks it into Ahriman's chest. The blade stops shaking, and the blood around Ahriman strangely flows up into Drach'nyen itself, flowing into the arcane sealing runes etched into the blade and disappearing into the sword, as if it were a demonic straw.

All the while in the background, Luceus and Abaddon watch as Drach'nyen drains Ahriman's life blood and share a maniacal laugh.

(AN: End of chapter 1 of my second fic in my series of 40k/Mankin crossovers. (Someday, I might actually finish this one… someday…) The usual stuff time: you know I don't own any of this junk. It's all official GW fluff, except that part about Ahriman having perfect memory, which I can only infer. Don't own any of the mankin stuff either. Long story short, you don't sue, I don't need a lawyer, everybody's happy.

Keep up with the Despoiler's fiendish plan with the soon coming chapter 2 of TRP: Festivities)


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